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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24374731">you and your love, like nails in my feet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ODed_on_jingle_jangle/pseuds/ODed_on_jingle_jangle'>ODed_on_jingle_jangle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>aftershock [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dare Me (TV 2019), Dare Me - Megan Abbott</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abusive Relationships, Bad Decisions, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Disturbing Themes, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Future Fic, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Married Couple, Non-Explicit Sex, Not Happy, Passive-aggression, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:41:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,833</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24374731</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ODed_on_jingle_jangle/pseuds/ODed_on_jingle_jangle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Addy hears a wistful note in Colette’s soft sighs and notices chips in her nail polish as she twirls the wineglass in her fingers. </p><p>It is these moments when Addy wonders what game it was Colette had been playing, and how she lost badly enough to have nothing but Addy left over. Addy’s love as her only consolation prize. </p><p>She will never ask. Colette would never tell her even if she did.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Colette French/Addy Hanlon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>aftershock [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you and your love, like nails in my feet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is yet another thing I did not plan to write, then felt prompted to upon pondering commentary. Written in a sort of stylistic, experimental style. It's quite possibly a turn off. Morphed into something of a vent fic pretty early on. </p><p>This is possibly my deadest dead dove in this fandom thus far, thematically. It does not feature any gore or corpses, but potentially (very) unsettling content. It is the depiction of an extremely unhealthy, disturbing relationship. Please heed the tags going forward or just like, click the back button if such content goes beyond your comfort level. </p><p>Title is from A Softer World: 196.</p><p>Oh, gratuitous Easter Eggs peppered throughout. Not as blatant as my last few, but still. Bwahahaha, I crack myself up.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Addy doesn’t know what to think, at first. </p><p>“I’m actually glad you’re our coach,” she says, fiddling with one of the bracelets on her wrist. “Because you’re a really good coach. But that’s all it can be this time. We can’t be…friends again.” </p><p>“No?” Coach asks, tipping her head, almost pouting. </p><p>“No.” Addy sternly crosses her arms. “I had your back, then you lied to me when I was practically begging you not to. God, you lied to me too many times to count.” </p><p>“As many times as you lied to yourself?” </p><p>Something hideous surfaces inside Addy and she turns away from it, away from Coach. </p><p>“I have to go.“ </p><p>Coach’s hand latches onto her wrist like a snakebite and yanks her back. She shudders as hot breath ghosts over the shell of her ear and maybe she could, oh, maybe she should, free herself from the hold but— </p><p>“College isn’t high school, Addy. These aren’t girls who grew up being bullied by you, cowering under your shoe. They aren’t afraid of you. And the older girls, the ones who already mastered better, harder stunts you haven’t even practiced yet? They aren’t afraid of you, either.” </p><p>Addy swallows as Coach’s breath fans lower, warmly tickling the nape of her neck. She thinks of those stunts, the ones too dangerous for Sutton Grove High to permit, the ones she’d watched Colette perform on YouTube in her own college years. Watched over and over, and might’ve touched herself to, even.</p><p>“You don’t have anyone here to back you up. Not Beth, not RiRi. You need a friend more than I do.” </p><p>Addy looks over her shoulder, down to Colette’s black cherry lips. Tries not to think about them sliding over her own. Tries not to think about— </p><p>“We can’t be friends,” she repeats. </p><p>“You don’t mean that, Addy.” </p><p>The way she says it is almost like a laugh. </p><hr/><p>They aren’t friends. </p><p>Friends don’t tear each other’s clothes off. Friends don’t spread each other’s thighs apart or trace their tongues over each other’s panties. Friends don’t claw gouges into each other’s backs and tend to them with kisses like rose petals and liquor.  </p><hr/><p>Addy has her cake and eats it too for awhile. Stands on top the pyramids in the daylight, body twisted into nimble triumph, Coach gazing up at her from below. </p><p>Almost never sleeps in her dorm at night, winds up at Coach’s house, unfurling and writhing on lilac scented sheets. Gazes up at Coach from underneath her, awed by the parting of her lips and the sounds that brush her skin between them. </p><hr/><p>If there was any part of Addy that sensed it was the beginning of the end, she must’ve squashed it down, deep, deep, deep, because she is entirely blindsided when the day comes that, that— </p><p>Well, MSU can’t afford a scandal. Not another one, not again. Colette is fired. Addy is quietly cut from the squad and everything she thought about how the rest of her life was going to go is dragged to the guillotine. </p><p>Addy can’t afford school without her cheer scholarship. She flunks out and plans to slink back to Sutton Grove, but the conversation with her mother over the phone is even worse than she imagined it was going to be. When she hangs up the sheer shame she feels burns her to a crisp. Faith Hanlon is not easily impressed, but Addy has never felt disappointment from her like this, disappointment and disbelief like knife wounds. </p><p>She can imagine what her mother’s face looks like. Oh, she can imagine and it’s enough to grind her heart to paste. She couldn’t bear to see it in person, she won’t, she refuses to have the image realized. She won’t look at it. </p><p>She crawls back to Colette’s couch instead. </p><p>For weeks she stuffs her face with luxuries she never allowed herself as a cheerleader, bunt cake, crème brûlée, banoffee pie and sachertorte. Chases it all down with booze so strong it might as well be embalming fluid. Drinks and eats, drinks and eats. Stuffs herself sick, stuffs herself until Colette slaps her cheeks and curses, curses, cries and pleads, </p><p>“Addy, we can’t afford this—“ </p><p>And Addy doesn’t feel it at all. </p><p>“Addy, I’m sorry but—“ </p><p> It’s nothing, it’s all television static. </p><p>“Goddamnit, Addy, get ahold of yourself—“ </p><p>And Addy looks down at her vomit in the toilet water and finds that it looks like some kind of revolting painting. A palette of colors swirling together like oils on canvas. The world’s smelliest Van Gough in the middle of a ceramic bowl. </p><p>“I am not your fucking babysitter, Hanlon!” </p><hr/><p><br/>Colette opts to become a personal trainer. Cheer squads never bring her much good, it seems. She helps Addy work off the pounds she packed during her binges. Works her down to the bone just like she used to, even harder, maybe, until Addy is aching and almost feels normal again, running suicides for her own personal coach. </p><p>There is comfort in these rituals. Comfort and familiarity. They take Addy back to a place where she felt like she could be anything. The brief touch of Coach’s corrective hand on her thigh as she spots her back tuck. The echo of her whistle in Addy’s ears. </p><p>In these rituals it isn’t their (their?) living room anymore, it’s the gym, and Addy is still blossoming into the best she can be with all the bright things ahead of her. Balm to wounds that won’t heal. Sanctuary in the sweat that pours down her back at the behest of Coach’s beck and call. </p><p>Addy gradually becomes accustomed to the reality that everything she thought she was ever going to be and do slipped right through her fingers, but retains reprieve in their rituals. </p><p>Sooner than later, she winds up a sales associate at the local Mallmart. Mallmart, where the dreams of all college dropouts go to die, wrapped in retail uniforms like mourning shrouds. </p><hr/><p>Addy would rather be feared from the top than loved from the bottom, but there’s no getting back on top now. It’s gone, she blew it. She got too cocky, or maybe they both did. However it happened, it’s gone. </p><p>Addy would rather be powerful than precious, but she lost the game and love is her consolation prize. Colette is her consolation prize. Sex on the floor, dances in the grass, drinking wine in the evenings and going out on Taco Tuesdays. It pales in comparison to everything she felt at the top of the pyramid, everything she could’ve gotten out of another three years and a prestigious degree. </p><p>But it’s better to have a consolation prize than no prize at all and as far as they go, Colette certainly isn’t the worst. Love is the kind of thing people live and die for, right? </p><p>There’s no poetry without love, no music, no color. Surely Addy is lucky, compared to most people. Most people are born and they die, and they never even come close to getting what they want. At least Addy had it for a little while. At least she still has love leftover. Love isn’t everything, but it can be enough, right? </p><p>Love can be enough. </p><p>Love is what most people want as badly as Addy wanted everything else. </p><hr/><p>Sometimes Addy hears a wistful note in Colette’s soft sighs and notices chips in her nail polish as she twirls the wineglass in her fingers.</p><p>It is these moments when Addy wonders what game it was Colette had been playing, and how she lost badly enough to have nothing but Addy left over. Addy’s love as her only consolation prize. </p><p>She will never ask. Colette would never tell her even if she did. </p><hr/><p>Sometimes at the coda of Coach’s sighs, Addy will reach out and take her hand. Lace their fingers together and feel warmth in her chest and think that in this way, they will always have unspoken understanding. One loser to the other. Two losers who won each other, if nothing else. </p><p>Two losers in love, whose love will have to be enough, because if not, everything they have lost will have been lost for nothing at all. And how fucking pathetic would that be? </p><hr/><p>The day Colette slips the ring on her finger, Addy shakes herself of the momentary hesitation and smiles as wide as she can. She’s crying, but they’re happy tears, oh, yes, of course they are. They must be happy tears. </p><p>She’s just been proposed to and she’s in love, isn’t she? </p><p>This is love, of course it is. </p><p>She is Adelaide Hanlon and she is in love and she is going to become Adelaide French because she can’t be Top Girl, but she can’t allow herself to be nothing at all, either. </p><p>She is Adelaide Hanlon and she is going to become Adelaide French because she is in love, she has to be, there is nothing else to be anymore. </p><p>Addy is nothing if not adaptive, the most gutting losses of her life will not be in vain. </p><p>This is love, it simply has to be. </p><hr/><p>Addy supposes the rest of her life will be stocking shelves and ringing up customers. Or maybe Mallmart will tire of her, or she’ll of it, and she’ll move to MgRonald’s to master the deep fryer. Or maybe she’ll get hired at a nice Moonbucks, where maybe she’ll get good enough to make manager and have a discount on fancy lattes. </p><p>Addy thinks that the love between her and Colette will always be like this. Sex on the floor, dances in the grass, drinking wine in the evenings and going out on Taco Tuesdays. Most important of all, their rituals. </p><p>When Coach pushes Addy’s body to its brink and then some, and for just a little while she gets to live in the past where she still had potential of the most glorious kind. Her muscles burn like hellfire and her breath wheezes out of her beaten lungs and it’s— it’s fucking beautiful. </p><p>She thinks that’s how things are going to be and it’s not what she wanted, no, but it is something. Something is always better than nothing. </p><hr/><p>Things are never how you think they’re going to be. </p><hr/><p><br/>One day, Colette gets sick of rug burns. During a dance, Addy treads upon a small garter snake that startles and breaks the skin on the back of her calf. Addy buys the wrong wine one night for inexplicable reasons and when Colette unscrews the cork, she gives her this look like she shot the neighbor’s dog or something, and Addy doesn’t know what to do with the feelings that puts into her stomach. Addy starts working the night shift and that’s the end of Taco Tuesdays. </p><hr/><p>“I had it and I lost it, because of you.” </p><p>“You made your choice.” </p><p>“What other choice did I have?” </p><p>“If you want to play the martyr, go do it somewhere else. I’m over it. It was boring back when Matt did it and it’s boring now too.” </p><hr/><p>“Maybe I could apply somewhere less ambitious. Like Wayne or Oakland, or something.” </p><p>“You’re 23, Addy. If you were going to try again, you should’ve done it way sooner.” </p><p>“Well…” </p><p>“You think any school would take you? When they get your transcripts and see how bad you tanked?” </p><p>“…it was just an idea.” </p><hr/><p>“Do you think we could try to see Caitlin sometime?” </p><p>“No. You know I made a deal.” </p><p>“Yeah, but that was a long time ago. Maybe we could renegotiate. Besides, it’s not like we’d have to tell anyone.” </p><p>“My mom would tell. She hates me, Addy. God knows how she’s raising my daughter, what kinds of horrible things she’s telling her about me…” </p><p>“Well, I think that’s why we need to see her, Coach. So she knows they aren’t true.” </p><p>“Why ‘we’ need to see her? She’s not your daughter.” </p><p>“I never said she was! But I mean, I’m your wife, so like, she’s…that makes me like, her family at least. Don’t you think I’m better family than your mom?” </p><p>“Drop it, Addy. Now. It hurts me too much to talk about this.” </p><hr/><p>“Mm, maybe I could try community college.” </p><p>“Don’t be delusion— Oh, don’t look at me like that, Addy, you wouldn’t even find what you think you’re looking for. You had a good run, treasure the memory.”</p><p>“Memories are like dreams, aren’t they?” </p><p>“What do you mean by that?” </p><p>“Nothing. I guess you’re right.” </p><p>“Believe me, this is as good as it gets. For you, for both of us.”  </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Sometimes I wonder if it was really you who pulled the trigger.” </p><p>“Women don’t kill with guns, Addy. We kill with poison. We kill with love.”  </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Sometimes Addy wonders what Beth is doing. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Sometimes Addy wants to scream right into Colette’s ear until the decibels render her deaf. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Sometimes Addy thinks about calling Faith Hanlon and breaking down in tears, like she’s a child again.</p><p>Only, she never really did cry much, did she? </p><p> </p><hr/><p>Addy makes things up sometimes, she knows she does. Her wife tells her so. Addy makes things up and sometimes she mixes things up, too. If you asked her wife when the very first time they slept together was, she wouldn’t tell you, because it’s a matter of privacy. Addy wouldn’t tell you either, most likely she’d stomp on your foot and flip you the bird. </p><p>In truth, Addy isn’t sure she has an answer to give. You see, she makes things up sometimes, and mixes them up too. Sometimes she even mixes up the things she makes up. Confuses the memories and the dreams. </p><p>Sometimes she is positive that the first time she slept with Colette was in college. That time in a lesser used bathroom on campus, garbage can pushed up under the door so it couldn’t be opened. So fucking foolish in hindsight, ridiculously reckless, but it’d been exhilarating at the time. </p><p>The two of them riding on the high of victory, Addy’s hands braced against the sink while Coach’s opened her fly and snaked inside. Coach’s teeth scraping over the back of her neck, her entire body rippling with heat. Addy being able to watch their faces in the mirror as it unfolded the way it was always meant to, surely, because what, if not destiny had brought them together again? </p><p>Addy snuggles against Colette on the couch, resting her head against her breast and closing her eyes. </p><p>“Hey, do you remember that night? After what happened with Will, you had me come over…it was raining.” </p><p>“I remember,” she says tiredly. “Why are you bringing that up now?” </p><p>“Just thinking…you needed to do something. You were jumping out of your skin. You told me you needed to do something, and we went outside and practiced in the rain. I didn’t realize it, but I needed to do something too.” </p><p>“Hm.” Colette idly rubs up and down Addy’s arm. </p><p>“But what did we do after?” </p><p>“The rain got heavier. We went inside.” </p><p>“Yeah, it was blinding. We went inside, you started crying…did I cry too?” </p><p>“No. You stayed so strong, Addy. Strong for me.” Colette kisses the top of her head. </p><p>“We both had to do something,” Addy repeats softly. “We practiced and went inside, and…did we do anything else?” </p><p>Colette pauses. </p><p>“We went to bed. I think we both went out pretty quick, I remember being so exhausted I couldn’t see straight.” </p><p>That’s what Coach remembers. Addy supposes that’s what she remembers too. She supposes the part where they got naked must have been a dream, rather than a memory. Or, well, that part is probably true, actually. When the rain amped up into a torrent, their clothes got soaked, after all. They had to. </p><p>So they stripped off wet clothes and…well, Addy doesn’t remember borrowing anything of Colette’s to wear. But she supposes that must be what happened. Addy must have borrowed some silky pajama shorts that would’ve looked too mature on her at the time, must have tugged on a t-shirt or a breathable tank. </p><p>
  <em>“Oh, Addy. Let’s do something, anything.” </em>
</p><p>They both needed to feel something, feel anything other than what they were feeling and…</p><p>And if Addy remembers waking up naked, it’s only because all of that was so long, she forgets what the pajamas looked like. She forgets what they looked like, so she can’t remember herself in them. That makes sense. She remembers herself naked because it would’ve been better that way, probably, better to be naked than dressed in something purchased on Matt French’s maxed-out credit card. She’d feel far too guilty if she remembered herself wearing something like that. </p><p>The first time she and Coach had sex together was in college. In the bathroom. And Addy’s never tried heroin and she never has to, either, because she will ride on the high of that memory for fucking forever. She imagines it now and her heartbeat quickens, the familiar warmth of desire pooling between her thighs. </p><p>She ghosts her fingers over the toned flat of her Coach’s stomach and slides them under the cutesy Betty Boop boy shorts she’d bought her for her birthday. Colette exhales like the delicate flap of angel wings and tilts her head back as Addy shifts, brushing kisses up the elegant column of her neck. For just a fraction of a second maybe Addy imagines sinking her teeth in, maybe she imagines ripping her wife’s throat open like a rabid wolverine. But maybe she’s just making things up again, mixing things up again. </p><p>She does it all the time, these days. Truth be told, maybe she always did. </p><hr/><p>The truth, what is that, even? </p><hr/><p>Well, the truth is that sometimes, a death of a thousand cuts isn’t as simple or straight forward as it’s made out to be. </p><p>Sometimes the person cutting you bandages your wounds along the way. Sometimes she fastens the bandages with kisses and murmurs apologies into your lips. Sometimes you’re so spellbound by her voice, it numbs all the pain. </p><p>Sometimes, maybe she even slips the knife into your hand. </p><p>Well, maybe you were the one holding the knife all along. </p><p>It certainly feels that way when she’s looking at you with <em>those</em> eyes, and when you know no matter how much you don’t wish to know, that if you looked inside yourself, you would find something vampiric and howling. You would find something that no one else would want to see. Something that she sees, and loves in spite of it. </p><p>Loves you enough to take the knife out of your hand, even as you silently blame her for your wounds. </p><p>This is a death of a thousand cuts. </p><p>“I love you,” Addy whispers, hugging Colette from behind, lightly resting her chin on the slope of her shoulder. </p><p>Colette slides her hands over Addy’s, a satiated sound rumbling in her throat like a purr. They sway back and forth to music that isn’t there and maybe the echoes of something far different flicker inside Addy’s chest. Perhaps she blinks them away, or else they’re banished by the lips to her temple. </p><p>Addy’s blood turns to honey and the night is so gentle, soft as bumblebee fuzz and sunflower petals. </p><p>Maybe there was never any knife at all. </p><hr/><p>“Did you hear about the cheerleader from Ohio State?” </p><p>“What cheerleader?” </p><p>“The one on the news this morning. Flyer who fell from the top of a Wolf Wall. Her spinal cord snapped like a rubber band.” Coach snaps her fingers. </p><p>“She died?” Addy gasps. </p><p>“Nope, but she’s paralyzed from neck down.” Coach shakes her head. “Can’t even twitch her little pinkie finger.” </p><p>“Oh my god…” </p><p>“Maybe that could’ve been you, Addy. If you would’ve been on the MSU squad long enough to top your own Wolf Wall.” </p><p>Addy swallows, balls her hands into fists instead of flinching. </p><p>“Well, if it was, would you have taken care of me?” Addy tilts her head. “Would you feed me everyday? Wash my ass for the rest of my life?” </p><p>“I’d have to, wouldn’t I?” Colette chimes cooly. “’Til death do us part and all that.” </p><p>“And all that,” Addy repeats, bumping their hips as she winds around her to get into the refrigerator. </p><hr/><p>Beth’s girlfriend doesn’t like roses. So instead of buying her a bouquet of roses, like most basic bitches do on Valentine’s Day, Beth takes her to a lavender farm. They pick basketfuls of lavender and tuck lovely little sprigs behind each other’s ears. </p><p>The videos and pics are so cute, Addy wants to throw up. She smiles in spite of it. </p><p>The way she left things with Beth was abysmal. But they weren’t always that way, and somewhere inside Addy are still pieces that cherish what they had while they had it. Beth will always be apart of her, and to this day, Addy can feel Beth’s knee beneath her cheek. Still hears her laughter, not the aching laughter that stood in for tears, but the breathless beauty that bubbled off her tongue while her taste resonated on Addy’s own. </p><p>Addy couldn’t quite put a name to the feeling she has, scrolling through the pics of Beth and this girlfriend of hers, this Hannah who wears knit beanies and writes poetry on notebook paper. She doesn’t know if she’d call herself happy for Beth. But she does know that it’s good that Beth has this. Doesn’t feel any of the resentment or bitterness she might have a handful of years ago. </p><p>Beth seems happy and Addy doesn’t hate her for it at all. When all things are said and done, Addy never could’ve been the person to give this to her. But she’s found someone who has and Addy knows it’s real because even years later, she can tell the difference between Beth’s forced smiles and her genuine goblin grin. </p><p>Fuck everything, Addy hopes it lasts. </p><hr/><p><br/>Sometimes Addy dreams about putting a pillow over her wife’s face and smothering her to death. She dreams about using the bamboo pillow Colette got her for Christmas, the one always under her own head. She has these dreams and wakes up in the middle of the night, rolls over to see Colette peering at her in the dark. </p><p>Always. </p><p>It’s as if she knows what nefarious things Addy is up to in her dreams. As if she’s dreamt the same thing with their positions reversed and she wants Addy to know it.  To know that she is always ten, twenty steps ahead.</p><p>“Bad dream?” she’ll ask, voice as cool as the moonlit frost on the window. </p><p>Addy will nod and wiggle into her open arms. They’ll wind around her warmly and she’ll curl into them as she banishes the remnants of her recurring dream, the gauzy snapshots of those arms flailing as she held the pillow down with no mercy. She will nestle into Colette’s chest and make herself comfortable, even as she thinks that Colette must be ridding herself of similar images. </p><p>“Go back to sleep, Addy.” </p><p>“You too.”</p><hr/><p><br/>Sometimes Addy sprinkles salt on Colette’s scrambled eggs even though she knows she wanted pepper. Pretends she doesn’t notice the displeased crinkle of her nose when she takes a bite. </p><p>Sometimes Addy brings home the hazelnut coffee creamer even though she knows Colette prefers caramel. Tells her hazelnut was all the store had left, if she asks. Watches her sip her coffee with her lips curled in distaste, is if the flavor itself is curdled. </p><p>Sometimes Addy hides Colette’s wallet and watches her run around the house like a madwoman, flinging throw pillows and couch cushions into the air. Addy always returns the wallet to a place she knows Colette searched, only to make her feel crazier than she already does. </p><p>Little by little, Addy has been pawning off pieces of Colette’s jewelry given to her by lovers past. The fancy stuff from Matt that must’ve had receipts he held over her head for god knows how long. The costume jewelry Will probably bought when he was drunk, junk Addy is lucky to get $20 for if the pawnbroker is feeling generous. Mismatched bits from old high school boy toys, things they possibly stole from their own mothers’ jewelry boxes. </p><p>One day, Addy will empty her wife’s jewelry box of every gift bought by someone who wasn’t Addy herself. </p><p>Because if Addy is going to die a death of a thousand cuts, she refuses to do so alone.</p><hr/><p>(cut, bandage, cut, cut, bandage) </p><hr/><p><br/>Love is a slow dance over skittering scorpions and Addy learns to savor every step, even the ones that end in stings. </p><hr/><p>One day, Addy comes back from a run she doesn’t remember. She must have gone a different route than her usual one, because she returns an hour later than she normally does.  Her clothes are drenched in sweat and she finds herself dizzy, shaky, can’t even pour herself a glass of water. </p><p>Colette pours one for her and draws her a lukewarm bath. Helps Addy over the side of the tub without a word and gently begins washing her down with the green apple soap she knows Addy likes. Moves the washcloth over Addy’s skin in soft stokes. </p><p>Scrubs Addy with the kiddie loofa Addy couldn’t resist picking up because it was so delightfully silly, with the alien rubber ducky attached. Addy relaxes, smiling weakly at its three painted eyes and toothy beak grinning up at her. </p><hr/><p>“It’s like you fucking feast on people’s souls!” Addy throws her hands up in the air. “You ruin people, everyone who loves you loses their life, look at Will and Matt! I won’t have this! I’m not going to let you eat my soul, Colette!” </p><p>“You say that as if you actually have a soul.” Colette calmly sips from her glass. </p><p>Addy flinches. </p><p>Colette reaches for her and Addy slaps her hand away. </p><p>“Don’t touch me!” </p><p>Colette ignores her protest, tenderly cupping Addy’s cheek.</p><p>“You’re so fucking cruel,” Addy spits. </p><p>“And you aren’t?” </p><p>Addy trembles, maybe with rage, maybe with need, maybe with— </p><p>Colette sets her glass down to cradle Addy’s face in both hands. Addy inhales the scent of her lotion, rosemary and mint. </p><p>“What about the things you’ve done to the people who loved you, Addy?” </p><p>Colette won’t let her turn away, curls her fingers claw like, nails biting into the skin as she forces Addy to meet her gaze. </p><p>“Who could match your cruelty, if not me? Who else could take everything you have to dish out, and still accept what you are in the dark?” </p><p>“No, no, you’re doing it again.” Addy fights back the shame that crawls into her throat, seizing Colette’s wrists. She means to wrest her hands away. She intends to rip her off and somehow she never does. She just stands still, staring into her wife’s eyes, holding her wrists in a sweaty grip. </p><p>“Doing what?” Colette asks, voice like cooling cinders. “You know what you are, Addy. Who could love you for it, other than me?” </p><p>“B-Beth loved me,” Addy splutters but even as it comes out, she knows it sounds stupid. </p><p>Colette laughs like razor wire. </p><p>“Oh, Addy. What the fuck do kids know about love? She was a troubled girl who clung onto the first friend she could find with tooth and nail. You grew up together and she loved you because you were there, that’s all. Anyone else would’ve done.” </p><p>“Shut up,” Addy snarls. It’s been years but she is defensive of it still, what she and Beth had. No one else could ever understand, no one should dare claim to, not even Colette. </p><p>“She couldn’t love you for you. No one else could, don’t you see that?” Coach tilts her head to the side. “I know what you are and I’m strong enough to take it. I embrace the things in you that would break anyone else, and what thanks do I get for it?” </p><p>Addy lets out a sharp cry and closes the gap between them, furiously crushing her mouth to Coach’s. They fume and they fuck and the fucking is like fighting. Addy knows she needs it, she thinks they both do. To feel something, anything other than the way they feel right now. </p><hr/><p>“I’m so bored, I could kill myself,” Addy says flatly, body limply draped over the bed. </p><p>“It’s funny you you should say that, I was just thinking—“ </p><p>“You were going to ask me to kill myself?” </p><p>“Very funny, hahaha.” Colette rolls her eyes. “There’s a wedding reception at my client’s hotel tonight. The fancy one, with the ballroom. Maybe we could crash it?” </p><p>“Now who’s joking.” </p><p>“I’m not though.” Colette shuffles over, rests her hand on the back of Addy’s thigh. “Come on, when was the last time we went out? Teppanyaki Thursdays don’t count.” </p><p>“What if we get caught?” </p><p>“What if we don’t?” Colette gives her skin a little pinch. “Come on, Addy. I know you’re dying to do something exciting.” </p><p>Addy didn’t even realize crashing weddings was still a thing. She figured it died out in the nineties. And yet…Coach isn’t wrong, really. Addy’s so bored, she’s found herself counting the dead bugs in the windowsill. There are eleven in total and she’s named them all after Asian fruits. </p><p>“Let’s do it,” she decides. </p><p>So she and Colette crash the wedding at the Five Seasons wearing what they’d donned their own wedding day just for the fun of it. Addy still fits into her swan white suit and slate gray tie. Colette still fits into her black dress, lacy long sleeves, skirt to the knees. Seeing her in it fills Addy with so much warmth she must be glowing. </p><p>They move through throngs of people they don’t know and pretend to be 3rd cousins of whomever’s side they aren’t talking to. They boldly cavort each other to someone else’s cheesy playlist in the middle of a crowded dance floor under romantically dim lightning. For a little while, they play the parts of people who don’t exist. </p><p>Eventually they fuck in the bathroom. Addy drops to her knees on the opulently waxed tile and doesn’t think she’s ever felt more alive than she feels slipping beneath the layers of lacy black tulle. Trailing her tongue up the inside of Coach’s thigh, the fabric rustling softly as she moves. </p><hr/><p>Addy’s so fucking furious she sweeps the water pitcher off the table. It crashes down to the floor, shattering in an explosion of crystalline shards. </p><p>“Real mature, Addy!” </p><p>“If you wanted maturity, you shouldn’t have married someone twelve years younger!” </p><p>Addy storms out of the house and runs for for blocks, runs and runs and runs, fuming with ire and envy. She swears she can feel smoke coming out her ears, every nerve alight. She runs to do something productive with the feelings pillaging inside her, runs to work out the restlessness and the rage. </p><p>She doesn’t know how long she’s gone for, but the moon is shining when she finally comes home. Colette’s shut all of the lights off. The kitchen floor is spotless. Colette must have swept up all the pieces. </p><p>But when Addy peeks into the trashcan, she doesn’t find any glass. She supposes Colette must be keeping them somewhere safe. Hiding them somewhere Addy doesn’t know. </p><p>Addy strips off her sweaty clothes and crawls into bed, beside her wife’s sleeping form. She wonders if one day, Colette will take out the shards of glass from wherever she’s hidden them and use one to slit Addy’s throat. Addy wonders if Colette will unzip her from ear to ear in this very bed. </p><p>Addy imagines waking up gurgling, choking on her own blood. She imagines Colette’s hand hovering in the air, bloodied shard in her grasp. She thinks of Colette bowing forward and pressing their lips together as Addy’s throat gushes seas of ruby. Knows her last breath will be smothered beneath Colette’s lips. </p><p>Addy imagines these things and she lies here vulnerably anyway, completely naked, facing the wall. </p><p>Maybe she’s waiting for the day Colette smothers her last breath. Maybe she’ll welcome it. </p><p>Maybe she’s just mixed up again. </p><hr/><p>“Pushups,” Coach demands. “One-handed.” </p><p>Addy gets into position and lowers herself to the ground. </p><p>She feels the weight of Coach’s shoe between her shoulder blades and for a little while she is shining, thrumming with the kinetic potential of her own beginning before the beginning. The sole of Coach’s shoe presses into her skin and for a little while, Addy lives in those moments where she truly felt like she was going to have everything she ever wanted. </p><hr/><p><br/>“Beth told me to stay away from you, back then.” Addy twirls her fingers through Coach’s hair. “Because I was a good person and you were going to throw me away.” </p><p>“You, a good person?” </p><p>“It’s what she said, I think. Maybe I was.” </p><p>“No,” Coach hums, reaching down, fanning her fingers over Addy’s chest. “Good people follow the rules, they don’t break them. Good people aren’t born ravenous, they don’t go after what they want like bloodhounds on a scent. You never would’ve come so far if you were a good person, Addy.” </p><p>Addy supposes she knows it’s true. She is everything Coach tells her she is, she’s warped and jaded and bad all over. Aim for her heart and the blade strikes pitch black coal. Turn her insides outside and you’ll find her organs are fanged. </p><p>“I’m good to you,” Addy goes on warily. “Mostly. You never threw me away.” </p><p>Coach’s hand slides lower and she rolls her fingertip around Addy’s nipple in lazy circles. </p><p>“You’ll never throw me away, Coach.” </p><p>“Of course not. I love you.” </p><p>“Matt loved you. Loved you so much, he killed your side piece when you got caught cheating.” </p><p>Colette freezes. “Why are you bringing that up now?” </p><p>Addy grabs a handful of hair and tugs until her wife lets out a little sound of pain. Her ring glitters beneath the bedroom light, between silky blonde wavelets. </p><p>“I'm not Matt. If I ever catch you cheating with someone, I’m not going to kill them.” </p><p>“Of course not, Ad—“ </p><p>“I’ll kill you,” Addy interrupts, staring up into her eyes as they widen. </p><p>She'll kill her with poison. She'll kill her with love.</p><p>After a few heartbeats, Colette's gaze hardens with understanding. Her mouth twitches into a grim smirk. She reproachfully squeezes Addy's nipple and Addy relishes the pain. She’s lost everything to have this, to have Colette, to dance with her over scorpions and endure a death of a thousand cuts. She’s lost everything for her love, and she has committed to it. Their love is all that was salvaged from her sacrifice, and Addy will never let anyone encroach upon it. She'll die before that happens.</p><p>Colette wanted this. It’s hers now. Addy won’t ever let her change her mind.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Will edit typos when I am awake.</p><p>Edit: Fixed some typos.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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